Keeping the Faith
by The Rouge Glow-worm
Summary: A werewolf's life, beginnings, a romance, and the end. Some plot twists and ideas that you will find unexpected.
1. The beginnings

A/N: I don't own anything. I got this idea from the Billy Joel song "Keeping the faith" but then I got hit with a great idea for a prologue. A long story coming up, I think. Any suggestions will be appreciated. Hang on for the ride, I think you'll enjoy. There will be longer chapters coming up, promise. I already have chapter 4 written.  
  
  
  
  
  
The first few years of a person's life are the most crucial for us all. They shape the foundation on which that person's life will be built. They create morals, establish habits, and instill traditions which will follow a person to their grave. And yet, not one of us can honestly say they can remember the majority of these milestone years.  
  
Bet you thought I was going to say I was different, right? Well, surprise, you're wrong. I'm no different from you in that aspect. I can't remember seeing my momma for the first time, or my first laugh or joke. We're the same in that respect. But that's where our similarities end.  
  
You're a muggle. I know you are, no wizard alive would take pleasure out of reading this type of thing off of a computer. That's a huge difference right there.  
  
But I'm different from most wizards, even. They are fortunate enough not be held a prisoner of the moon once a month in the way I am. Admitted, some of the female persuasion might argue, but their torments are nothing, nothing to what I have suffered and am constantly suffering.  
  
Now, about 1970 years after some man was nailed to a cross for saying how good it would be to be nice to there people for a change, there lived a boy. Not a particularly extraordinary boy, but a boy nonetheless. He lived with his family, had lots of money, and was the most miserable boy alive, just because he was different. This is his story.  
  
The simplest way to start all stories, I suppose, is at the beginning. So, that is where this story will begin.  
  
It begins with a house.  
  
~~~~~  
  
It wasn't a house that you'd call remarkable, it was standard of the area it was in. but I grew up in this house, the first part as any boy would. The house was an old wizarding house, complete with gnomes, ghosts, and a genuine house-elf. In this house lived a family. My family, most importantly. The family in the house was well off, and even though they all had been Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, they stressed the importance of purity of blood. Their reasoning behind this was based largely off of early muggle history.  
  
In the wizarding world, witches often rival men in terms of powers. Women are mostly more powerful than men, and are treated with respect because of that. Throughout all of Muggle history, however, women were downtrodden and squashed. Early wizards were disgusted with this, and these reactions started the cracks that would eventually widen into the chasms between muggle and mage worlds.  
  
My family, however, was not violent about their beliefs. Not one of them could be accused of being a Death Eater, because they, much like the Weasley and Potter families, still felt that the two worlds could be re- joined into one. The topic of inter-house politics was one often discussed at family meeting and holidays, but I was never included in these, if only because I was so young.  
  
And then came the accident. I had carelessly wandered away from my home one evening, hoping to explore my family's massive estate in more detail. To this day I don't remember how it happened, but it came to pass that I was bitten by a werewolf.  
  
My parents, horrified, unbelieving, and powerless, had brought me into the house and into a room upstairs that was rarely used. I was to stay there while they contacted a medi-wizard the next morning. I remember, I waited all night, without the comfort of a parents, without a transformation to confirm my fears, and without a complete understanding of how my life was to change.  
  
  
  
  
  
Quotes taken from introduction of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. An immensely funny read. Also inspired by Pheonix Ashes by Aimee Carter.  
  
  
  
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	2. The long wait

I'm a bit conceited to think anyone's returning to read this, but if you are, please note that I added more to the end of the last chapter because it was a bit short. I combined two chapters, so there's new material at the end of the old one. Thanks for reading!  
  
  
  
Amazing, really, how closeness dims your perspective. Looking back now, I can barely believe I had allowed nearly two years to pass in that upstairs room prison. I was only 9 years old at the time, but even then, I shouldn't have allowed what happened to spiral so far out of control.  
  
My mother had been the less loving of the two parents. Whenever I had a problem, I avoided her, and turned instead to my father. But my father died a few months after I was infected. I didn't really feel his death as much as I should have, though; I was too busy adapting to my new lifestyle.  
  
My mother had spoken to the medi-wizards immediately following my attack. She told me I was to be kept away from the rest of the family until a solution was devised. Being young and trusting as I was, I didn't question this highly unusual method of handling a werewolf bite.  
  
The days turned into weeks, which passed one much like the next. I grew older, learned things through the many books I read. And as I grew, my faith in my mother's promises dwindled. Since my family was well off, she made sure my every desire was delivered. She said she was making up for the lost time I was experiencing. After my dad died, however, my faith started to decline. Nasty, suspicious thoughts crept into my head, about my mother, my disease, and my doctors. I suppose all boys around that age start becoming curious and un-believing, it's a part of growing up that needs to be faced.  
  
At first, my mother brought me a potion brewed to help me through the transformations, which were extremely painful. Can you imagine every bone in your body being broken and re-formed, the skin and muscles stretching to accommodate this new frame? Your mind is fragmented, and if I had ever consumed alcohol before the incident, I would have likened it to being drunk. These potions varied from being very useful to almost worthless. But through all of them, my mother was there with me, even though I was confined.  
  
And then she started to miss my monthlies. The first time she did, she returned the next morning in wild, angry tears of sorrow. How could she do that to her son? Her beloved, cherished son? I received a new game and clothes for that, as well as the best present I'd gotten since my imprisonment – a guitar.  
  
A guitar! How had she known? I had spent many of my long, lonely days listening to old music, muggle and wizard alike, and had become fascinated with the sounds of all the instruments combining to make music. I had wanted to learn an instrument, and the endless days and months I was confined left plenty of time to learn. My misgivings about her absences were immediately erased in the moment I was given that beautiful wooden music-maker. I would spend hours a day playing it, until the tabs were worn down to a powder. I had never felt such a desire to let music set me on fire. Then I was saved, ironically, from my own unfortunate transformations.  
  
But then my mother missed more and more transformations, and more and more gifts were showered on me. My growing my evolved into a more adult status, and the suspicions returned. My mother was changing towards me. But I knew that if I confronted her about it, my entire lifestyle would be rocked again.  
  
And twice in two short years was more than I was willing to endure.  
  
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	3. Deliverance

Around my 11th birthday, I had hit rock bottom. Days had turned to weeks, to months, to almost two years wasted on the words of my mother, her reassurances that I would soon be freed as a normal boy again, and childish love had kept me hanging on. That, and my greed for the gifts she constantly bought.  
  
And over my eleventh birthday, something happened that never had happened before. I got the faintest inkling that someone real, someone from the world, knew I existed. That awakening came in the form of an owl soaring into my one bedroom home with an owl bearing the Hogwarts seal.  
  
I had been accepted! For the past two years, I had been living in dread. What if I wasn't allowed to come, because of my abnormality? Was I wizard enough? Did I finally have an escape?  
  
No. My exuberance was stamped by my mother. She told me I was a danger, a menace to society, and would not be going. I could barely believe her. How could she keep me up here so long? How long did she expect me to live like this? I feel asleep that night without any answers, but a plan. No matter what it took, I was going to Hogwarts.  
  
~  
  
After my prayers of Hogwarts were squashed by a mother I had long ago failed to know, she disappeared for a time. By this time in my life, I was used to not seeing her, even for weeks at a time. A servant would bring my food up to me, if they felt brave enough to feed the "thing." But this absence was prolonged, she did not return to me for almost two months.  
  
Two months! Two valuable months in which I could be preparing for Hogwarts! I got my letter in the early spring, I think even then Dumbledore, the headmaster, knew I would need more time to get there than most. But it escaped me how he could not do anything then. Even now I don't know why he let things carry on how they had been.  
  
When my mother returned, she did not visit me for several days. It hurt to know she was in the same house as me, yet unwilling to see me after so long. When she finally did visit, I was sitting down with my guitar. When the door opened, I hated to look away, to miss what would happen next, so I didn't.  
  
She strode into my room gaily, as if nothing had happened with us. She still, even after all this time, acted like nothing was wrong, or out of the ordinary.  
  
"Remus! Here I am! Aren't you glad to see me? Oh, you just don't know how very glad I am to see all of you. I've missed you so much, and thought about you, and dreamed of you, and I've brought you all so many beautiful presents that I chose with sure care. Just wait until you see them! And I had to be so sneaky – for how could I explain buying things for a little boy? I wanted to make up for being away for so long. I did want to tell you why I was leaving, really I did, but it was so complicated. And I didn't know exactly how long I'd be gone, and though you missed me, you were cared for, weren't you? You didn't suffer, did you?  
  
Had I suffered? Had I only missed her? Who was she, anyway? Idiot thoughts while I stared at her and listened to how difficult a hidden mutant child made the lives of others. And although I wanted to deny her, keep her from ever really being close again, I faltered, filling with hope, wanting so much to love her again, and trust her again.  
  
But then I saw her turn to bring in a box. The box she always used to bring up the peace offerings, overfilled with shiny, bright colors and exotic looking textures. And my forgotten anger returned ten-fold.  
  
I stood from my sitting spot and spoke, in a voice that had gained years of living and still was young enough to squeak when used. "Mother, of course I'm glad you're back! And yes, I missed you! But you were wrong to stay away for so long, no matter what complicated reasons you had."  
  
"Remus," she said, her eyes widening in surprise. Another of her Acts, I felt. "You don't sound like yourself. Her vivaciousness calmed down a bit. "Remus, has anything gone wrong?"  
  
"Wrong?" I repeated. "Momma, what can be right about living in a single room? You said I don't sound like myself. Look me over well. Am I still a little boy? Tell me how much I've grown. Tell me I'm still a child, incapable of discussing adult matters that directly involve me! I haven't remained idle all this time, mother, twiddling my thumbs while you're off having a good time, forgetting your responsibilities. Through books I've lived a billion lives, my vicarious way to feel alive."  
  
Momma tried to interrupt, but I was on a roll. I overrode her and her voice faltered.  
  
Scornfully I glared at her many gifts. "So, you have come back bearing peace offerings, like you always do when you know you have done something wrong. Why do you keep thinking your stupid gifts can make up for what I've lost, what I constantly am losing? I've lost enough just being what I am. So, of course, once I was delighted with the games and toys and clothes you brought to my prison room, but I'm older now, and gifts are just not enough anymore!"  
  
I could see what my words were doing to her. I would take it back, but I had learned many things in my time in this prison. If you said something, you thought it, and if you thought it, you meant it somewhere deep down in you.  
  
"Remus, please," she begged, "please don't speak as if you've stopped loving me. I couldn't bear that."  
  
"I love you," was my reply. "I make myself keep on loving you, despite all you've done. I've got to love you, and believe in you, and think that you are looking out for my best interests. But look at me, Momma, and see me really. I feel that you close your eyes to what you are doing to us. You come to me, smiling, and dangle before my eyes and ears bright hopes for the future, but nothing ever materializes. Long ago, when I was first infected, you said I'd only be up here for one night, while you figured out what to do. Then you changed it to a few days. And then it was another few weeks, and then another few months . . . and over two years have passed while I wait for those damn medi-wizards to come up with something, and for you to tell the world that I exist! That I wasn't killed! I know that's what you're doing, mother, pretending your mutant of a son doesn't exist. It's best for your image, your lifestyle. But what about my lifestyle, mother? This lifestyle isn't helping me. Can't you see that?" I was nearly shouting, my boyish face suffused with red as the limit of my self-control was reached at last. The last bit of me that was still rational was shocked – I never thought I'd live to see the day when I attacked my beloved mother.  
  
But the sound of my own voice startled me, so I lowered my tone and spoke more calmly. Yet my words still carried the force of bullets on her unhearing ear.  
  
"Momma, whether or not those medi-wizards can help me, I want out of this room! Not next week, not tomorrow – but today! This minute! You turn that key over to me, and I'll go away, far away. You can send money if you care to, or send none, or never see me again, if that is your choice, and that will solve all your problems. I'll be gone from your life, the world never needs to know I existed, and you can live a much easier life without trying to hide me!"  
  
Momma went pale from shock. I think I surprised her. Her little chit of a boy had just returned what he had been feeling for two years now, and it scared her to death.  
  
And I was going to feel sorry for her. But then it all came back. The week of starvation I had once endured. The loneliness. And most of all, how I had broken my arm during my last transformation, because she had not seen to it I had been restrained. I realized it was mostly my anger talking, not me, even if all I was saying was true.  
  
She saw that. She knew it was something greater than me that had gripped me. "Say no more, Remus. It is clear to me that you are not yourself." She turned and strode from the room heavily. "Open your gifts I selected with such care," she said in a cold voice filled with sobs, "and tell me whether or not you are thought of and loved. Tell me then that I didn't think of your needs, and think of your best interests, and try to cater to your every whim. Tell me then that I am selfish and that I don't care.  
  
"When you have thought about the pain you have given me today, and when you can treat me with love and respect again, I will come back. Not before."  
  
So she came.  
  
So she went.  
  
And I knew, in those few moments, that my days in this prison were numbered. If God would not deliver me, I would deliver myself.  
  
  
  
  
  
This based HUGELY off of Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews, pgs 291 – 298. I Still own nothing. Review? Please? 


	4. The importance of faith

So I was free. After the years of lost living, I was on my own, at the tender age of 11. You're right, it wasn't fair. But spending two years as a werewolf confined by his own flesh and blood had smartened me up to the fact that life was rarely fair if you were far down in the pecking order.  
  
And there I was, 11 years old, the time when most people go to Hogwarts. Well, I was going to be like most people in that instance. I'd been robbed of so much already. Nothing and no one was stopping me from Hogwarts. I'd heard so many good stories about the people there, and especially the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was a man of justice, the only wizard who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had ever feared. My recent escape and the joy that followed was overshadowed by the idea of my mother coming after me, even though I knew my escape had made her life much easier, and that I would never hear from her again. Nonetheless, that slight fear lead me to wonder, if even You-Know-Who feared Dumbledore, what were the chances my mother would stand? She would come to retrieve me, and the iron fist of justice would put a stop to that. I'd be happy forever!  
  
My childish thinking aside for the time being, I set about how to get to my goal. I didn't even know where it was located. Using some of the faith I had kept during my internment, I quickly prayed to God, even though the many hours of thinking had convinced me that there really was no God.  
  
My thought process went like this: A unicorn was an animal I greatly admired, it was a truly magical creature. I was fascinated with them. Something so beautiful and at the same time so useful could not have evolved by chance. Therefore, it disproved God's existence. It goes something like this:  
  
Man: Why can't you prove your existence?  
  
God: Because truth denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.  
  
Man: But unicorns would not have evolved by chance, so that proves your existence, which means that by your own argument, you don't exist.  
  
God: Oh! I never thought of that! *disappears in a puff of logic*  
  
Man: Oh! That was easier then I though! *Goes on to prove black is white and gets himself killed at the next pedestrian crossing.  
  
Yet the part of me that still needed to believe in something called my theory bogus and continued to pray and worship. I knew, even now, that the faith I maintained had kept me sane the past few years, and would be something I had to rely upon in the years to come. After all, what else could I rely on?  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
At this point you may be thinking that I'm lost in "lets remember." It seems I'm just telling you my pity party. That's not the case. You should know me much better, because my past is something that never got in my way. My past is an important part of me even to this day, and my early years and the way of thinking I developed was important to me getting to where I was at the end of my Hogwarts years. Now that you've got the background information, I can tell you about her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I have no clue where this is going.  
  
The argument about God not existing belongs to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, about the Babel fish. I'm not that clever.  
  
The very last paragraph was written with the song "Keeping the faith" by Billy Joel in mind. I took lines from that to write that paragraph. Like I said, that song is my reason for writing this fic. Listen to it, see if you can't figure out who the "her" is at the end of this chapter.  
  
  
  
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